ay enter and glorify. Follow her direction, and what a friend
you have! Cross her, thinking you know more than she does, and she
laughs at you. She takes you into the garden and the nursery and
discloses her wonders and helps you to work miracles. You plant seeds
and bulbs, and beauty rises to greet you. Did you ever think of the
royal position of the florist and horticulturist?

The sacred poet speaks of the "labor of the olive." What a flood of
light that opens upon us. "All things are yours." Let us go out into the
grove you have planted. I once took off my hat to myself. While living
in the Republican Valley, near the 100th meridian, I planted some bull
pine seed. When the little trees were large enough, I transplanted them
in rows six feet apart and started a miniature forest. Twenty-five years
after I went to see them. The rows were straight. The trees had fine
bodies six inches through. They were miniature columns in a temple,
holding up a canopy of green. The ground was covered with a thick carpet
of needles. It was one of the most pleasing sights I ever saw. Then I
thought, "What if I had planted forty acres?" I would have had a Mecca
to which horticultural pilgrims would have flocked from hundreds of
miles. I planted the trees, and the faithful servants kept on working
day and night, and that beautiful grove was the result. Every tree you
plant is your servant, and how faithful it is--no shirking, always at it
whether you are looking or not. Look at that cherry tree. How the tiny
rootlets scurry through the soil--faithful children gathering food to
send up to their mother. Look at that flood of bloom. Then the fruit
grows till a mass of red gleams from the leafy coverts. There is a great
difference between a patch of brown earth and your faithful Jonathan.
What a marvel that little patch of soil, absolutely milked by those busy
foragers, and the extracts of it glowing in red beauty on the tree. Talk
of chemists! Those quiet rootlets surpass them all.

[Illustration: Albert Victor iris, from Mr. Harrison's garden--about
one-third size.]

If you want to be in the realm of miracles, lay down your hoe awhile and
sit among your flowers. Your brain devised the plan, your hand planted
the seeds and bulbs. "Behold the lilies, how they grow." Now sit there
and think it out. At your feet are artists no human skill may imitate.
Two peonies grow side by side. Golden Harvest opens with yellow petals
fading to purest whit